


Protect Her

by decentlysane



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decentlysane/pseuds/decentlysane
Summary: "You already saved her life once with the bread," Katniss says, her voice turning to something more pleading. "Don't let it be wasted. She's too innocent. She's too kind. She won't survive out there on her own." Her eyes have started to water. "Protect her, Peeta. Please."She's asking me to die for Prim. That's not what she's saying, but I know that's what she means. I hesitate for a moment, wondering how I could ever fulfill that promise- not because I want to be the victor, but because I don't know if I could keep her safe. I'm not a hunter like Gale. I'm not relentlessly determined like Katniss. What can I, a baker, possibly do to save myself, let alone a child, from the vicious tributes coming from the career districts?I could not do that. It was easier to accept now that both Prim and I would die in that arena. No matter how that hurt.---AU Where there can't be volunteers for the games and Prim must be sent to the arena.
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

"Primrose Everdeen," Effie announces, her voice as cheery as ever.

For an instant, I feel relief sickening relief. I don't immediately recognize the name, as it wasn't someone I was begging that it wouldn't be. It isn't Madge, or Delly, or, well, her.

Then I repeat the name back to myself, and a pit forms in my stomach, full of guilt and grief. It's her sister. Her twelve year old, tiny sister.

The crowd is silent as the tiny girl makes her way forward. I hear Katniss start shrieking. "Prim! No! Please! Take me! I volunteer!"

But the Peacekeepers push her back harshly. There can be no volunteers. No protecting of siblings. No saving the skinny twelve year old that makes her way, terrified, to the temporary stage where a strange woman stands, ready to whisk her away to her death.

The Hawthorne boy who I know to be Katniss's friend breaks away from the crowd and pulls Katniss back, though I can see the pain in his eyes. The grief that he already feels for little Primrose.

Effie asks for applause, but instead, the crowd places three fingers to their mouths and then raise their hand- a funeral gesture. A farewell. We have not had a twelve year old be taken for many years. The amount that the older kids have their name entered due to the tesserae is staggering compared to the children. The odds should have been in Prim's favor. They were not.

Haymitch makes his way to the end of the stage, belches loudly, and promptly falls off the end of it.

On another year, this might have distracted the people of district twelve for a brief moment of amusement like it does the cameras- but not this year. Not when it's sweet little Prim who's been called up. Not when it's Prim, who is only twelve, who has sold small pads of creamy goat cheese to just about everyone in the Seam and even some of the merchants and Peacekeepers. Not when its the sister of the girl who feeds half the black market, allowing so many of us to have fresh game.

After the commotion, Effie walks over the the boy's bowl and grabs a slip straight from the top, seeming to want this to end quickly. "Peeta Mellark."

I could swear that my hearts stops. My friends standing around me turn and look, their eyes wide, looking both pitying and relieved. I feel my mouth gape open. All the blood drains from my body- figuratively. For now, at least.

I somehow force myself to move forward. The crowd parts for me, all looking at me as though I'm already in my casket. I climb onto the stage and Effie asks for a welcome for me. No one rushes forward to beg for my protection. No one gives me the funeral gesture. No one cares about a merchant boy going to die.

"Shake hands," Effie says cheerily, and a force myself to turn and really look at the tiny little girl that I will be fighting in only a few days. She's very thin, like a twig. Her hand is dwarfed by mine is a way that she doesn't grab it so much as place her palm against mine while I wrap my fingers around it.

We are taken into the justice building and into separate rooms so that our families and friends can say goodbye to us. I don't expect a warm farewell from my family, but maybe a few hugs and "good lucks" from my schoolmates. But just the thought of leaving everyone has my eyes brimming with tears. It makes it more final, somehow.

I am escorted in by a Peacekeeper, but he leaves the room. I at least get privacy, I suppose.

My parents and brothers walk in first. Miche looks uncomfortable- he may be my brother, but he's seven years older than me and our only real bond comes from working in the bakery at the same time. Rye, similarly, looks uncomfortable- but also sad. We were much closer growing up- only a year apart. We would hold each other while Mother screamed and yelled and threw things. We grew apart the older we got, though- the threat of losing someone in the games tends to force a separation within families.

Dad is the only one who looks truly upset. He pulls me into a hug straight away, and I'm comforted by his warmth, if only for a moment before mother tuts disappointingly.

"We'll have to find another worker now," she complains to Dad as he lets go of me. "One we have to pay."

"Kit-" Dad begins but she ignores him.

"It's not like any good will even come out of this!" she snaps. "District Twelve will never get a victor for a tribute, will we?"

I turn my face away as the tears finally spill to my cheeks at her words. They are not shocking, but they still hurt. To my surprise, Miche speaks. "I think Peeta's got a chance, Mother," he says. "Don't be so harsh."

"Harsh," she scoffs. "He's going off to be slaughtered by another teenager and I'm harsh? He might as well get used to it."

I knew that I wouldn't get used to it. Not when the harshness was coming from the mouth of my mother. No matter how long it went on, the sting never went away. Not with her blows or her words.

Rye moves forward and hugs me anyway. "I'm rooting for you, okay?"

I hug him back. He may be rooting for me, but I know that deep down he's just grateful that he was once again not chosen.

I say one more goodbye to all of them, and give my father one last hug.

I was still crying as they brought Delly and Madge in, though I was nothing compared to the first of the two girls. Delly was in hysterics. It felt odd for me to be the one to comfort her, but it was nice to see that someone cared that much about me.

It was easier to be friends with the opposite gender, I had found. I had guy friends, of course, but many of them seemed to see me and others as a sort of competition. It was harder to feel a connection to someone when you would easily wish it was there name being pulled at the reaping rather than your own. Like siblings, a wrench was driven that prevented a close bond. At any rate, I doubted that any of them would come to see me now, unlike Delly and Madge.

Delly was a sweet, caring girl. She always had been. She was selfless, but she was a little dorky. I appreciated how friendly she was, though. Her kindness, in this situation, however, seemed a bit more like a flaw as she sobbed into my shoulder before leaving, apologizing profusely for her behavior and what was happening to me.

Madge was more quiet. She was also friends with Katniss. I was friends with her before the two girls had formed any sort of relationship, but a part of me hoped after they had begun occasionally sitting at lunch together than Madge might wave me down and tell me to sit with them. But Madge was shy, so she had never done that, and I had never asked her to, because it felt unfair.

"Have you been to see Prim?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Not yet. I'm not sure I can look at that little girl and tell her that everything will end up all right. It's not like she's strong, like you."

I almost laugh. "I don't think I stand much of a chance, either," I point out bitterly. Tears threaten to come again.

Ignoring me, she holds out an open hand. "Here," she says. In her palm sits a gold pin. "It's my good luck charm. I think it works, seeing as I haven't been reaped yet. Maybe you could take it with you to the arena."

I want to point out that part of the reason that her name hasn't been pulled is because she doesn't need the tesserae, but neither do I, I suppose, and here I am. Instead, I take a moment to appreciate the kind gesture. I take it from her and inspect it. It's a bird, surrounded by a ring.

"It's a mockingjay," she explains.

I nod. "Thank you, Madge," I say earnestly. I hug her before she leaves, and then move to sit down on the velvet couch, trying to calm myself down.

I'm not expecting anyone else. When the door opens again, I think that it's the Peacekeepers coming in to collect me, so I stand, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands, but when I look up, I'm startled and shocked to see another visitor standing in front of me.

It's Katniss.

The door closes and we're both quiet for a moment. My heart's pounding in my chest. She wants to see me! It feels ridiculous to be excited. This will likely be the last time we ever speak- even if it's also the first. She looks very pretty today- she's dressed in her reaping clothes and has her hair in a nicer braid than normal. She doesn't appear that she's been crying, but that's not surprising. She's never been one to show her emotions.

We both stand there for a minute, seemingly unsure of what to say. It's her that speaks first.

"Don't be crying when you get out there," she says, her voice flat.

I almost laugh. Don't cry. I'm walking to my death and I'm not supposed to cry? "Pardon?"

"Don't cry when you get out there," she repeats. "You'll look weak. The Capitol isn't going to be throwing money forward to sponsor a sixteen year old boy who cries when he leaves."

I'm stunned. Why would she possibly be giving me advice? Her sister's also being sent into an arena, and will be fighting for the same sponsors I am. It doesn't add up. "Shouldn't you be saving this advice for Primrose?"

"I already told her, but it's not like she'll be able to help it," she says, and I can tell that she's focusing very hard on not looking upset. "Besides, I owe you."

I blink. "From what?"

Katniss looks like she doesn't want to admit it, and I realize why before she even says it.

"From when I threw you the bread?" I question, and she nods quickly. "Katniss, we were kids. And you were starving." And I'm in love with you and it was my one chance to show it.

"Well, you still helped me, and I owed you," she snaps. "I know you got hit for doing it." She's quiet for a bit before taking a shaky breath. "And I'm going to owe you again, because of what I'm asking."

I don't say anything, because I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I would have been hit for something else, if not for the lightly burnt bread. Feeding a starving girl shouldn't be kept on a score sheet like Katniss seems to have done, but it is exactly the kind of thing she would do. 

Finally she speaks again. "I need you to protect Prim while you're in the arena," she says.

I am stunned. I don't say anything, so she keeps talking.

"You already saved her life once with the bread," Katniss says, her normally monotone voice revealing something more frightened, more desperate. "Don't let it be wasted. She's too innocent. She's too kind. She won't survive out there on her own." Her eyes have started to water. "Protect her, Peeta. Please."

She's asking me to die for Prim. That's not what she's saying, but I know that's what she means. I hesitate for a moment, wondering how I could ever fulfill that promise- not because I want to be the victor, but because I don't know if I could keep her safe. I'm not a hunter like Gale. I'm not relentlessly determined like Katniss. What can I, a baker, possibly do to save myself, let alone a child, from the vicious tributes coming from the career districts?

"Katniss, I-"

She turns away sharply. "Never mind. I knew it was too much to ask," she hisses. "But know this, Mellark." She casts a glare over her shoulder. "If you lay a finger on her, and you make it out of that arena, you'll wish you had stayed there."

She stalks out of the door before I can say another word. Well. That went terribly. My one chance alone with her before I would be in the ground, and that was how it was spent.

I collapse onto the velvet couch again, burying my head in my hands as I wait to be collected by the peacekeepers. I will die in that arena. There is little doubt in my mind about that. But a part of me knows that if Prim goes first, I'll carry that guilt with me until I'm picked off.

But how could I protect Prim? Taking a knife for her at any point would still lead to her death, if I wasn't there. The youngest victor was fourteen, and he had been from a career district- well fed and trained for combat. Prim wouldn't stand a chance without me, but she could not win while I lived.

What if I could get her to the end of the game? I could protect her to the end, wound or even kill our final opponent, and if I survived that I would-

No. It would be easier to accept it now. Prim and I would never return to Twelve. Neither of us will see Katniss again.

But still, I picture Prim's face. So young. So innocent. Katniss's words echo in my her. "Protect her." Guilt gnaws deeply in my chest.

As the door opens to reveal the peacekeepers, I force Katniss from my mind. I stand, ready to follow to my grave.


	2. Chapter 2

I've forced myself to stop crying by the time we've left the building as we're led toward the trains. Capitol cameras point towards me down the whole road, and I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the screens. My eyes are still a bit red. I wince.

Prim seems to be trying to heed her sister's advice, too, but is struggling. She's trembling violently and her cheeks are all blotchy, her eyes still brimming with tears threatening to spill over at any second. I want to comfort her, but I'm not sure I'm allowed to. We keep moving.

The tracks, which would typically hold a dusty coal train, had been replaced by a sleek, almost pretty model from the capitol. It struck me, for an instant, that I would be living in luxury for at least a few days. I had never been starving like many of the families in District Twelve, but I'd only ever lived off stale bread and the occasional wild game from poachers like Katniss and Gale when my father could afford it. Now, I'd have fresh food.

We board with Effie, who is still cheery and doesn't seem to notice the fear that either of us are experiencing, and Haymitch, who is so drunk I almost doubted that he knew where we were going.

"You'll have your own rooms to sleep in, of course," she chirps, "and meals will be served in the dining car. There will be supper in an hour, so be ready!"

She peels off with Prim, leaving Haymitch and I alone. I expect he's supposed to lead me to my room, but I'm not really sure how, considering how the train has begun to rock with movement and he is already leaning unsteadily.

I clear my throat. "Do you know which room is mine?"

"Down the hall," Haymitch slurs, and begins walking. I follow him, thinking hopefully that he'd lead me to the right room by some miracle, but as he stumbles down the hallway it becomes clear that he forgot I was there.

"Where are you going?" I ask, hoping to get his attention again.

He starts and turns his head to look at me, eyes unfocused. "Nap," he grumbles. Then he opens the door in front of him and literally falls in as the train hits a bump at that moment.

I somehow manage to close the door behind him and give a sigh. After trying a few doors, I find what I can only assume to be my room. I look around.

The bed and sheets are soft and plush. The closets are filled with nice clothes. I go into my bathroom and am delighted to find a shower with warm water. I take advantage of it and even use the soaps they have to offer. The bottle claims to smell like pinewood but I doubt it- as pleasant as pine may smell, this will always be better.

I towel myself off and put on a new shirt and pants, both softer than my own. I glance at a clock hanging on the wall. I can see that it's been almost an hour, and I have the sneaking suspicion that Haymitch will not come to get me on time, so I figure I might as well leave myself.

Just before I do, I remember the pin Madge gave to me. I reach for my old pants and pull it out of my pocket, admiring the bird. Mockingjays were birds that came from jabberjays, which the capitol had used in the rebellion, and regular mockingbirds. They couldn't mimic exact words anymore, but they could repeat a song, if they liked it enough to stop and listen.

Like Katniss and Prim's father, I remembered. And just like Katniss. The mockingjays had stopped to listen to her all those years ago in music assembly. I knew, even as a child, that I was a goner after that.

Madge knew about my feelings for Katniss. I never told her, but she was observant, and she spent time around her as well. She would have been aware of my gaze lingering on her friend for too long, too often for people who hadn't spoken. Perhaps she was just as observant about the mockingjays, too.

I somehow doubted it. She didn't know my father's story about Katniss's parents. The pin was just a good luck charm, even if my own feelings would always associate it with the girl I had been in love with for the better part of a decade.

The thought of Katniss almost makes me put it down, somewhere where someone won't immediately find it and won't have time to give it back to me. I don't want to be thinking about her request, because I haven't figured out how I could even begin to fulfil it, though it makes my heart ache. If it had been her sent to the arena, I might be able to help. She could handle herself after I kicked the bucket. But Prim...

Shaking the thought from my head, I slip the golden mockingbird into my pocket. It's a gift from Madge, not a symbol of Katniss. I leave my room.

I am the only one in the dining car when I find it. I sit down on one side of the table, and look appreciatively at the beautiful ceramic dishes that are placed at each spot. Many have delicately painted flowers, and I am jealous of the people that had the tools to do them. How much would it cost, I wonder, to have such delicate paints?

Effie leads Prim in, who looks marginally better. She has at least stopped crying, and changed her dress, which is now frilly and golden-yellow.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks, her smile as wide and white as ever.

I shrug. "Last I saw him, he was taking a nap."

"Well, it has been a big, big day for everyone, hasn't it?" I can tell she's relieved that our mentor is not here, not that I can blame her after how he had behaved this morning.

As servants carry out dishes, I realize with a start that it's more food in a meal than I've ever seen. Salad with leaves coated in sour and sweet sauce, lamb cooked so tenderly that it practically falls apart under my utensils, mashed potatoes filled with salt and butter, fresh fruit that tastes like sugar, and cheese that distinctly tastes different than that of a goat's. Finally, there's a chocolate cake. I've eaten cake all through my life, but this was better than anything we'd made in the bakery at home.

I eat more than I could probably hold, and even tiny Prim seems to keep pace with me. It's the best food I've ever had, even if it makes me feel sick.

Effie then leads us to a new room with cushioned chairs and a TV to watch the recap of the reapings for the other Districts. I appraise my competition. The District One, Two, and Four tributes, of course, look almost excited compared to everyone else. The kids there see it as an honor to compete in the games, to win food for their home. Many of them take out tesserae that they don't need just to have their name in more.

The two that hurt most to see are the crippled kid from District 10- how can I possibly hurt someone who won't be able to fight back properly?- and worse, a twelve year old girl from District Eleven. I look between the TV and Prim, grief grabbing my heart. Two young girls, at least one, likely both, sentenced to die for crimes committed by their great grandparents.

Finally, we see District Twelve. The commentators remark about the desperation of her sister, and I see Prim pull her knees to her chest. They puzzle over the gesture that fills the crowd, but they can't for long because Haymitch has thrown himself off the stage and they immediately move on to laughter. They make few comments for me, and I wince. I am already forgettable.

The anthem plays and Effie turns off the TV as it finishes.

"The state your mentor was in," she grumbles. "And he had to mess me up with him. Did you see my hair?" She shakes her head. "That man needs to work on his presentation."

I can't help but laugh, and it seems to startle Prim. "He was drunk," I say. "Just like every year." I pause for a bit, pretending to think. "Scratch that. Every day."

Prim gives a small giggle, and I smile at her. I don't know if Katniss told her that she was going to ask for my help- I doubt she had time. But despite my hesitation to make the promise, I want Prim to trust me. Even if I couldn't save her, I refused to be a threat.

Effie purses her lips. "I wouldn't find it so amusing, if I were you," she hisses. "He's your lifeline. He advises you. He lines up your sponsors. He gets your gifts. He has control over your life and your death!"

I am struck for an instant how aware Effie is of these facts and think, for a moment, that maybe she isn't as ditsy as she appears to be.

And then, as if one cue, Haymitch stumbles in. "I missed supper?" he asks. He promptly vomits, slips in it, and splatters onto the mess.

Our escort sniffs pointedly. "Laugh away!" she snaps, stepping over Haymitch's stunned body and leaving the compartment.

Prim and I are quiet for a moment as our mentor slips around on the mess. The smell is enough to make me feel sick again, but I think about what Effie said. He's the difference between our life and death. I'm about to tell Prim that I'll take care of it and that she can go to bed when I hear her speak for the first time that day.

"Should we help him?"

"You don't have to," I say quickly. "I can take care of it."

She ignores me at approaches Haymitch almost curiously. I follow her, knowing there's no way that wispy little Prim could handle lifting the grown man on her own.

We each grabbed an arm, but it was mainly me lifting. I half-drag him to the room I saw him fall into. Prim opens the door for me and I give her a nod of appreciation and I heave him to the bathroom.

"You don't have to stay to help," I say to Prim, who stands in the doorway as I lower him into the tub, appraising how I am to clean him as he groans. "I'll have to change his clothes. You don't have to-"

"I don't mind," Prim says. "I've helped my mom with sick men before."

I blink, shocked for a moment at Prim's lack of modesty. "Well, I really don't think he's sick, just drunk as a skunk."

She opens a cabinet and grabs several small, disposable cups, filling them each at the sink. "Then he needs to have something besides alcohol in his system, and I doubt he'll keep down food. Make him drink all of this, okay?"

I blink, taken aback by how assertive she sounded. The tiny twig before me was glaring with big blue eyes, and I felt almost intimidated.

"Okay," I agree. "But I'll take it from here, okay? It's been a long day. You should go get some rest, if you can."

She eyes me a bit before conceding. "Alright. Goodnight, Peeta."

"'Night," I say before turning back to Haymitch. I wait to hear her receding footsteps before beginning to unbutton his shirt, resisting the urge to gag as I touch his bile. I hand him one of the cups as I begin my task. "Drink," I order.

"'S not fair," he slurs as he takes the cup.

"It'll help you not feel so awful," I say. "Sure it's fair. You got drunk."

"No, no no no," he shakes his head. "'S not fair for her. Too tiny. Not her."

"I know," I say. My chest tightens. "I want to help her."

Haymitch barks out a bitter laugh. "Don' think anything can help her win. Odds aren't in her favor."

I know that, I tell myself as I finish stripping Haymitch of the clothes I can, reaching for the showerhead. I know that, and I hate myself for it. I can't save one little girl.

Though I had tried to get rid of it, Katniss's pleading face enters my mind again. "Protect her, Peeta," it begs. I grit my teeth. I can't.


	3. Chapter 3

I forget where I am for a moment as I wake in the rocking carriage on the train before remembering that the previous day was not a reaping-day inspired nightmare. A feeling of dread washes over me. This is real.

I manage to sit up, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, heading to the bathroom. I had showered a second time the night before after I had helped Haymitch, but I wanted to take advantage of it again. The water was nice, and the soaps were better. If I was going to die, I was going to enjoy the days leading up to my demise.

After I smelled sufficiently of roses, I put on new clothes, pulling Madge's pin from the pocket of last night's clothes before I leave for the dining car. Effie and Haymitch are already there. I am pleasantly surprised to see him actually conscious, with not enough drinks in him to fully cloud his thoughts. A bit of hope fills me- perhaps he would give us some aid after all.

Haymitch spots me and waves me over. "Come sit," he says, nursing a glass of what I can only assume is liquor, and the hope dies.

"Coffee, dear?" Effie asks.

I shake my head. "I prefer something sweeter." We had occasionally made some at the bakery, when we could afford the grounds, but I had never enjoyed the bitter taste like my parents had.

"Then hot chocolates for the table, perhaps?" She glances at a server, who nods and rushes off to the kitchen.

I admire the selection of fruit and rolls, grabbing the bread and savoring how warm it was. Warm bread, even at the bakery, was a special treat.

The servant returns, placing a mug down next to my plate, as well as ones at the other three table settings.

I take a sip of the hot chocolate, and I am shocked by how rich and sweet it is. I am carful to savor it. If I drink all of it at once, I'd be able to eat less. I glance over at the empty seat next to mine, the one that must be Prim's.

"Should one of us go check on her?" I ask. "Maybe we should wake her up so she can eat before we get to the Capitol."

"Don't worry about her," Haymitch says. "Let her sleep. At least then she doesn't have to wake up to this nightmare."

"Now, Haymitch," Effie says primly. "I think Peeta may have a point. She is rather thin, and she was so hungry last night. Breakfast may be good for her before we arrive-"

"Sweetheart, I said to let her rest. It was a long day for everyone." Haymitch glanced at me. "Not as long as Peeta's, though, eh? Late night for the two of us, wasn't it?"

"Hm?" Effie questions. I feel my face beginning to redden.

"The boy saw me naked," Haymitch chuckles.

Effie scoffs and stands from the table, taking her mug of coffee with her and muttering about indecency as she moves away from us. Prim enters as Haymitch's laughter is dying off, and he calls her to sit down.

She sits down nervously beside me. Despite how hungry she must be, she doesn't reach for anything.

My chest tightens. She's afraid, like me.

"Try some of that," I say, gently. "It's called hot chocolate. It's really good."

She glances at me hesitantly before taking her mug and sipping it. She can't contain a smile as she tastes it. So delighted, so childlike, so innocent.

Prim begins to actually eat the breakfast provided, and I dig in, too. After I've eaten as much sugary fruit as I can possibly hold, I reach for another roll, and break off pieces of it and dip it into the liquid chocolate. I notice Prim copy me. I resist the urge to smile.

As I'm eating, however, I watch Haymitch drink more of his liquor, and a part of me begins to feel angry. Prim and I, a teenager and a child, who depend on his advice to survive, sit only feet from him while he gets drunk and offers no heed to us. Certainly this is the reason that we haven't had a victor since him. I've seen strong eighteen year olds that should have had a chance die because they couldn't get a vital sponsorship. If Haymitch was getting this drunk now, I could only imagine what he was like once he received the unlimited spirits the Capitol had to offer.

"So, are you going to give us any advice?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"Right," Haymitch says. "Here's some. Stay alive." He breaks out into laughter, taking another deep swig from his glass.

I glance over at Prim, who despite herself is trying to put on a defiant expression, but I can see the fear that flits across her face at Haymitch's dismissal. Anger bubbles in my chest.

"That's funny," I say. Haymitch nods to me, pleased at my response, letting his guard down long enough for me to reach across the table and knock the glass from his hand. The alcohol spills across the floor and our mentor looks for a moment as though I've punched him. "Only, not to us."

Haymitch considers me for a moment before swinging a punch into my jaw. I fall from my chair as pain blossoms across my face. I hear Prim shriek, and the sound causes me to surge upwards, and I lunge across the table, knocking aside the fruit. Haymitch leans back in his seat, out of my reach.

"Well, well, well, do I have a fighter this year?" Haymtich asks, looking me up and down.

I feel a tiny hand on my shoulder and look over at Prim, who has scooped ice from the fruit display into one of the napkins. I lean away from Haymitch. I take it from her and go to place it on my jaw, which already throbs slightly.

"No," our mentor says, and I stop my movement. "Let the bruise show. The audience might think you've gotten into a fight with another tribute before you've gotten to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I say. It was never discussed, but everyone knew what happened when you broke Capitol rules before the games. They were never exactly forgiving once you got to the arena.

He shakes his head. "Only if you get caught. The bruise will say that you fought, and you didn't get caught either. The Capitol citizens will like that. Stand up straight."

I do so, and Haymitch stands and circles me, inspecting me. "You're fit. Once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." He pauses for a moment, clearly considering something before he speaks again. "I'll make a deal. Don't stop me from drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you, but you have to do exactly what I tell you."

The promise is more than I can hope for for myself, but I know that he's specifically ignoring Prim. I can see the fear in her wide eyes as our mentor ignores her, and I know why. Twelve year old's don't make it through the game. They never have. His dismissal is proof that even mentors don't think they ever will.

But I nod in agreement. "Fine." If he helps me, I might manage pull sponsor money. More help for both me and maybe even Prim once we get to the arena.

"Perfect," Haymitch says. "Now, we'll be pulling into the Capitol any minute now. Do whatever the stylists want. You're not going to enjoy it, but they know what they're doing. Don't resist."

I nod, but I wish I hadn't. Every year the outfits for the district twelve tributes got more memorable in the worse ways. Once, the tribute were covered in nothing but coal dust. I hoped for Prim's sake it would be more chaste this year.

The train suddenly feels much dimmer, and I realize we're in a tunnel, one that travels under mountains and directly into the Capitol. We're mere minutes away. I run to the windows, determined to see the beauty of the city that held control over my life once we get out of the tunnel. Prim crosses with me, standing on her toes to reach the window.

I am blinded for a moment when light floods the compartment, but as I blink I realize that the city really is magnificent. Shiny cars, colorful, towering buildings, people dressed like Effie everywhere. Prim gasps.

People begin to point at our train, and on instinct I raise my hand to wave. I know that the Capitol rooted for personable people, and I had always been outgoing at school. It wouldn't be hard to pretend with these people.

I glance at Prim to see her looking up at me strangely. "Go on," I tell her. "Wave. They'll love it. One of them may be rich."

Nervously, she looks out the window and gives a small smile and a tiny wave. Though I can't hear them, I see many people clap in delight. She notices too, straightening a bit and waving more decidedly.

"See?" I tell her, trying my best to give her a reassuring smile and the train begins to slow and the crowd of people thins. "They liked you."

Hope flashes across her face. "You think so?"

"Definitely." I pat her shoulder. "Did you see how excited they got when you started waving?"

Effie descends upon us. "We'll be unloading soon," she says. "You will be taken to your stylists' teams and they will prepare you to meet them. You two will look incredible! They're new stylists this year for us, but I've heard wonderful things-"

I tune Effie out as I glance over at Haymitch, who has gotten himself another drink. He looks at me, then over to Prim and shakes his head. I know the message he's trying to send. Only one of us can be saved, if that, and I have the better chance. But it's not fair. Prim is too innocent not to get help. Since our mentor had abandoned her, that fell to me.

Maybe I couldn't save her, but I could at least give her hope.


End file.
